Tidbits
by Time Traverser
Summary: Trying my hand at a Hetalia drabble series. Most of them will likely involve one or both of the NA brothers. Assorted genres, rated T. AND NO ROMANCE HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU HORNBALLS?
1. Chapter 1

Things had been going so well.

"Mattie, check this out!"

They were at the zoo; a well-kept one, if rather small and almost entirely without any other clientele. The animals seemed happy, at least. And it was a late weekday afternoon. For all they knew the place was booming on weekends.

Honestly the brothers had been looking for something fun to do that wouldn't get them arrested or some other kind of trouble. Prussia was still on probation by his boss after being deported for the second time from North America, and it'd taken _so_ much pleading and ass-kissing to convince both the President and Prime Minister that neither twin had been involved that they were hesitant to even disappear as Nations were wont to do when there was nothing the government wished to be done.

In their scramble to appear at least somewhat law-abiding and benign, they'd stumbled across this zoo.

Then they saw the petting zoo.

Squealing, America practically launched himself over a low chicken wire fence and into a pile of fluffy white rabbits.

He'd always had a bit of a thing for rabbits.

Chuckling, Matthew couldn't help but take pictures with his phone. Then someone, a rather-ahem-husky security guard barked, "Hey, you can't do that!"

America sat up in surprise, a rabbit clinging to his head eliciting laughter from the children who were watching this funny man roll around with the bunnies in the pen. He stood up, sized up the red-nosed security guard, and promptly scooped up a bunch of rabbits and dashed off yelling, "FREEDOM!"

An hour later, he'd been caught. However it had taken most of the security staff to bring him down. Now America was in a small holding cell, covered in greenish smudges with sticks in his hair from hiding in bushes. Canada sat in the plastic chair the staff had been kind enough to provide for him, shaking his head.

"What possessed you to do that, exactly?"

America just shrugged, smile unhindered by his circumstances. "One of the kids looked bored. Thought I'd give him a show."

Canada recalled the laughter from kids and parents alike as they videotaped the proceedings. Then he smiled. "I think it worked. But your boss probably won't be so amused. We were _supposed_ to behave."

"Ah, well," America made a flippantly dismissive gesture. "Can't please everyone."

The northern twin rolled his eyes. "That's certainly never stopped you from trying."

* * *

 **Here begins a series of unconnected drabbles mostly consisting of stuff too short to be stories that I have saved on my computer, because why not? Don't know how long it will end up running, nor can I possibly broadcast the frequency of updates. Shouldn't really matter because they can all stand alone, pretty much.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you ever learn the function of Canada's curl?"

France froze, fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down with an unreadable expression. "I did."

England waited. After a while he began to tap his fingers impatiently against the cafe table. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What does it do?" The Englishman resisted the urge to smack his closest friend/enemy.

The suave Nation considered the question. Slowly, he said, "Only if you tell me what America's cowlick does."

"If only to disappoint you," England sighed. "His 'Nantucket' doesn't actually do anything."

"Nothing at all?" France was surprised.

England nodded, folding his arms. "I tried multiple times-it really is just a cowlick."

France looked rather dejected. "That's so…anticlimactic."

"It is," England admitted. He leaned forward over the table. "Now tell me what Matthew's curl does."

Just as France opened his mouth to answer, the duo heard that infamously irritating boom of laughter that was America's signature.

"I can't believe I never noticed that statue was pissing into the fountain! That's totally going on my Instagram."

Canada released a tired sigh. "I swear you act like this on purpose."

"You have no proof."

"Prepare yourself, _Anglettere_ ," France intoned solemnly. "I will show you." He rose gracefully from his chair, lecherous smirk plastered on his face as he snuck up behind his former charge and enveloped him in a full embrace. _"Oh, mon petit chou. Quand es tu arrive ici?"_

America rolled his eyes as Matthew returned the embrace with a tolerate smile. _"Hier, Papa. Nous sont en vacances."_

That was when France did it. His left hand crept up around Canada's back to tug sharply on his curl.

Canada yelped and broke away from France, violet eyes widening comically. America growled something through clenched teeth that made the European Nation pale and back away with hands raised in surrender. He pointed an implicating finger in England's direction, talking rapidly.

America's glare turned to England, and he cursed. France just threw him under the bus.

Meanwhile, Matthew's expression had become increasingly more frantic. He scratched his forearm, and grabbed his brother's jacket with the air of a desperate man. With a strength rarely seen, Matthew jerked his brother close and whispered something into his ear. Alfred took his brother by the wrist and marched towards the café. As they passed the table England heard them:

"Maybe they have some maple syrup in the café."

Matthew tittered strangely under his breath, fingers twitching. "God help them if they don't."

France returned to his seat, and exhaled as though relieved. "Do you see?"

"Not really." England frowned expressively. "What's wrong with him?"

The glass window of the café broke, a hapless employee having been thrown through it. To the human's credit, he recovered quickly enough to avoid the rabid Canadian that pounced on the spot he'd just been.

"This is not maple syrup!" Canada accused shrilly. "This is a _LIEEE_!"

America charged up behind his brother and bowled him over in an NFL-worthy tackle. They began rolling around on the broken glass, Matthew snapping at his own brother's restraining hands like a wild animal.

 _"_ _Bloody 'ell!"_ England cursed, jumping up from his chair in shock. "You could've just _told_ me, ye daft-"

Matthew slipped free and dashed off down the street. Alfred was hot on his heels, swearing venomously the entire way.

In the shocked silence that followed, France asked again. "Do you see?"

Still scandalized, the island Nation nodded. "Yes. And I'm glad I never tried it for myself."

* * *

 **I've nothing to say about this one except maybe...Review?**


	3. Chapter 3

Canada narrowed his eyes at the innocuous looking birthday present wrapped in red and white that sat on his kitchen counter.

America looked at his brother expectantly. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"After I figure out what you did to it." _'I don't_ see _any springs from this angle…'_

"I'm drowning in all of this familial trust," America said drily, putting a hand over his heart. "What if I promised that I didn't do anything bad this year?"

"That doesn't mean you didn't do _something_ ," Canada shot back. "You open it for me."

The western Nation only shook his head. "That's not how this works, Mattie. Your birthday, your present, you open it. Now hurry up before France gets here. This is _our_ thing."

He was referring to an odd little birthday tradition that the North American brothers shared exclusively with each other. They only gave each other one birthday gift a year, and they gave them in private.

But America had this annoying tendency to give gag gifts before the real gift. So Canada had every right to be suspicious of his too-good-of-an-actor brother.

Was that a smile or a smirk? America was being infuriatingly unreadable right now.

"I swear to God if it's maple syrup from Vermont…"

America dismissed the vague threat with a wave. "No, nothing like that. It's too early in the day to fear for my life."

Cautiously, Canada tore a little corner from the wrapping. All that revealed itself was plain cardboard. So slowly, by strips, he removed every inch of the patriotic wrapping paper.

Glancing sidelong, he could see his brother rolling his eyes. Patience had never been his strongest suit, but it was his own damn fault for giving Canada a reason to be careful. _Last_ year there was a layer of strange alien purple goop between the wrapping paper and the box that held the actual present. The goop had been alive, and immediately latched onto Kumajirou.

He hesitated with the lid at the memory of cleaning the polar bears fur for three labor-intensive hours. "It's not one of your weird science experiments, is it?"

"I," America enunciated slowly and with complete honesty, "did not do anything to the present."

Canada gave his brother an even look. "Oh, so you _bought_ it with whatever prank is waiting for me?"

The doorbell rang. America made a hurrying motion with his hand. "Come _on_ , just open it. Be a man."

Taking a deep breath, the Canadian raised the lid. Picking through the colorful tissue (red, white, _and_ _blue_ , the bastard), he found a smaller box.

The doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by insistent knocking. Canada held the box as far away from his body as possible as he opened it. When nothing spewed or jumped out, he breathed a sigh of relief and felt safe enough to look at what was inside. He gasped softly.

"…Well?"

"…How much did this cost?"

"Doesn't matter."

"You have a finite yearly allowance."

"Which I supplement with investments and small jobs." America shrugged. "Besides, I owed you for breaking that other one."

"That other one was cheap. Doomed to crap out on me. _This_ is…"

The doorbell rang. And rang. And rang again.

"I think we've left them on your porch long enough." America decided. He left Canada to his gaping, calling over his shoulder, "You know you can take it out of the box!"

Canada turned the thing over in his hand, taking in the details. Flashier than was affordable, but still somehow maintaining a classic flair. Then he saw the engraving on the back.

 _Because an awesome, handsome guy loves his twin._

 _*No homo._

* * *

 **Betcha can't guess what Canada got.**

 **Happy…Canadian Independence Day? Canada Day? Canaday? What do you guys prefer up north?**

 **I know I have this other story I'm supposed to be updating and that chapter's almost done. But I remembered that it was someone's birthday and couldn't resist.**


	4. Chapter 4

"There are so many bugs here," France muttered under his breath, swatting at the gnats that buzzed around him. "And it's too hot and muggy. Why couldn't he have picked a place with caterers and air conditioning?"

"This is how most of his people celebrate," Canada shrugged. "He's just trying to make it more authentic this year. Hence the barbeque and illegal fireworks. And don't tell me you hate Alfred's cooking because I _know_ that's a lie."

"I'll never admit anything."

Canada smiled to himself. "Well just play nice. It's important to Al."

"Yes, yes, I shall do so for your brother's sake." France plastered on an expression close to his usual suave calmness as none other than America worked his way around clusters of Nations to meet them. He and Canada embraced each other; America was grinning from ear to ear.

"Arthur sends his insincere apologies," France announced, handing America a crème colored envelope. "He also says not to call him for any reason whatsoever this week."

America took it in stride, as he always did. "Drunk again, huh?" He peered at the envelope closely, as though he might divine the contents by doing so.

France only sighed, exchanging a slightly mournful look with Canada. No one had ever told America the real reason that England still never attended his birthday party after so many years. That it wasn't just about pride or alcohol poisoning. No one had the heart.

Hong Kong, who could be seen lingering a bit close to the unlit firecrackers called from across the wide and slightly crowded grassy field that acted as the venue this year. "America! When are we getting to the fun part?"

"When the sun goes down!" America boomed back, injuring the ears of all those near him. Resuming a more normal volume he said, "Since this year isn't close to any fire or police stations, I figured we could get away with some… _bigger_ fireworks."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" France queried a bit nervously. "I thought they were rather large enough last year…What if there's a fire?"

"You kiddin' me? This place is so waterlogged a lit match could hit the ground and go out. 'S why I told everyone to wear closed-toed shoes."

Canada looked down at his glistening wet sneakers in what could only be described as exasperation at his brother's incautiousness. "Welcome to America, where they celebrate their country by blowing a part of it up."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," America affirmed proudly.

He looked at the envelope again. "This is from England?"

"It is," France nodded. "But it might be a hex. He was certainly in a foul mood when he asked me to deliver it…"

The western Nation regarded it for a brief moment of suspicion. Then he shrugged. "Well, I don't think it'll kill me if I open it. Wouldn't be his style."

"But it might hurt," Canada pointed out. "You should at least have Norway scan it for magic."

"If there was weird hoodoo shit goin' on you'd've sensed it by now," America waved dismissively. Before either could protest further, he tore the envelope open.

The two French-speaking Nations waited with bated breath. America withdrew a small card, read it, and chuckled. "Looks like the grudge is still going strong."

Someone nearby shrieked girlishly. _"There's a snake in the grass!"_

America rolled his eyes. "S'cuze me. I've gotta take care of that. Some o' these Europeans seem to have forgotten what being outdoors involves." He shoved England's card into his brother's hands and jogged off.

Canada read it, and then it was his turn to sigh.

 _ **Happy Treason Day,**_

 _ **You Ungrateful Twat.**_

* * *

 **SOOOOO I GOT THIS OUT PRETTY LATE BECAUSE MY FAMILY WAS BUSY WITH BARBEQUING AND FIREWORKS AND SITTING ON THE ROOF TO WATCH OTHER FIREWORKS AND THROWING POPPERS AT EACH OTHER'S FEET AND HAVING FUN WITH THE NEIGHBOR'S DUBIOUSLY-OBTAINED AND MUCH MORE IMPRESSIVE FIREWORKS THAT PROBABLY CAME FROM THE INDIAN RESERVATION.**

 **Happy Independence Day to my fellow Americans, and Happy Treason Day to any English reader who might happen upon this.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	5. Chapter 5

Ever since he'd gotten that damn camera…

 _To: Everyone  
From: Alfred F. Jones_

 _imma strap my GoPro to my head and run straight into this tornado! 8D_

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Gilbert Beilschmidt_

 _lol u tanked? send me video._

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Arthur Kirkland_

 _Git._

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Matthew Williams_

 _Nooo._

* * *

 _To: Arthur Kirkland  
From: Matthew Williams_

 _Wasn't his GoPro hidden in your safe?_

* * *

 _To: Matthew Williams  
From: Arthur Kirkland_

 _Yes. He must've broken into it somehow._

* * *

 _To: Arthur Kirkland  
From: Matthew Williams_

 _The spell-protected, HIDDEN safe?_

* * *

 _To: Matthew Williams  
From: Arthur Kirkland_

 _I don't know what you expect me to do about this._

* * *

 _To: Everyone  
From: Alfred F. Jones_

 _how long does it take 4 a person 2 die from a piece of fence sticking out of their side and they cant rlly move? asking 4 friend_

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Matthew Williams_

 _CALL AN AMBULANCE. GO TO THE HOSPITAL._

* * *

 _To: Matthew Williams  
From: Alfred F. Jones_

 _I CANT AFFORD IT ILL BE FINE_

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Ivan Braginsky_

 _Happens quickly, if it's deep enough. Take it out and speed the process. Less hassle._

* * *

 _To: Ivan Braginsky  
From: Alfred F. Jones_

 _HOW DID YOU GET THIS # RED?_

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Arthur Kirkland_

 _Congratulations, you've been promoted from 'git' to 'mentally impaired Yank'._

* * *

 _To: Alfred F. Jones  
From: Matthew Williams_

 _I'M SERIOUS GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL ALFRED._

* * *

' **Matthew Williams' is calling. Answer? Yes/No**

* * *

" _Sorry Dude or Dudette or Communist Bastard that tried to call! I'm busy being the hero, but'll totally get back to you later if you're not the aforementioned Communist Bastard. Leave a message!"_

"Alfred! Alfred, pick up your phone or so help me God I'll…well, I'll do something! Alfred?! ALFRED!"

* * *

They needed to find a way to get rid of that Go Pro camera for good, and soon. They also had to find a way to prevent him from getting another one. His already diminished sense of self-preservation disappeared entirely in any situation where a camera was involved.

* * *

 **Yeah, lots of linebreaks, I know. But it was the only way this site wouldn't screw up my formatting. Inspired by a Tumblr post, from which I took the first text message only. (And no, I'm not on that site very often. Waaaaaay too many hipsters and trigglypuffs. Seriously, someone was angry at white people for wearing moccasins. That's like Rome starting a war because some Celts were wearing sandals.) Anyways, this struck me as something America would do in one of his especially foolhardy moods. Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **So, read & review & etcetera, pretty, pretty please?**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	6. Chapter 6

Canada couldn't sleep. His brother's house was just too damn hot. So he kicked off the covers, padded down the hall and went down the stairs with intent to raid the kitchen for a glass of ice water. The place was dark, and silent save for the wooden floorboards creaking underfoot with age.

But what he saw coming down the stairs banished complaints of heat from his mind, and sent a chill down his spine.

America had never gone to bed. He was still in exactly the same spot on the couch that Canada had left him before midnight. The television was still tuned to the history channel. They'd been looking for something to ask England about to see how red in the face they could make him.

Now it was a three-hour special on the American Civil War.

"Al?"

The western Nation didn't respond. He sat ramrod straight in his seat, staring unblinkingly at the T.V., seeing but somehow unseeing. His fists were clenched tight enough for his knuckles to be too white even in the pale light of the program.

Canada immediately went to kneel by the couch, putting a cautious hand on his brother's knee. "Alfred, you're scaring me."

America jerked away from Canada's touch, his expression only growing more frantic as the Confederate flag from the T.V. show flashed across his glasses lenses. "Not again," he whimpered. "Please not again…"

Canada took the remote from the coffee table and shut the damned television off. In the same motion, he clicked on the lamp that stood on the table next to the couch. "It's not happening again. It's been over for a century and a half."

But America didn't hear him, instead heeding the call of some distant voice that only he heard. Some ghost of the past that haunted him on nights like this. He shivered, pupils dilated to where only a thin blue ring could be seen around deep black.

Canada stroked his arm, uttering soft assurances and privately cursing the history channel for all its worth. It was bad enough on the anniversaries; did they really have to go parading all the horrors of war across the screen without any preamble or excuse like that on any given day?

A wordless yell tore from his throat with such surprising anguish that Canada was momentarily taken aback. When America began clawing at his own torso, the northernmost twin jumped up and took his wrists, pinning them to the back of the couch.

"Stop!" Canada wrestled with his crazed brother, wishing not for the first time that they were a little closer in strength. However he knew how to use his higher position to his advantage, and ended up straddling his chest.

This has happened before, after all. He'd picked up a few tricks.

America writhed and arched against his brother's weight, shrieking bloody murder.

Canada leaned forward, bearing down as hard as he could. "Alfred, you'll hurt yourself! You'll reopen your wound!"

 _"_ _Good!"_ the American snarled back, the first direct response he'd given to a sibling that he didn't even fully recognize in the haze of memory. With his hands immobilized, America resorted to slamming his forehead into his brother's, causing Canada's vision to go odd for a moment. But he still refused to let go, because the alternative was so much worse. He couldn't watch his brother tear himself apart again.

"You're hurting _me_! Snap out of it!

America froze, too dark eyes still clouded with fear. His breathing labored and shallow. "N-no…don' worry 'bout me…"

Slowly, Canada maneuvered himself to be sitting on the couch next to his brother. He enveloped his twin in a hug, and stayed there until Alfred fell completely limp underneath him, breaths lengthening as he fell asleep from the exertion of his episode. Canada sighed, removing Texas to place on the nightstand. "Well _someone_ has to."

* * *

 **And for this one we'll just pretend that the History channel still shows historically relevant content! ;)**

 **So I apparently like torturing my characters with angsty and painful shit. I only just realized this.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	7. Chapter 7

"What're you watching?"

America glanced up from his phone, somehow hearing Australia past the noise of his headphones. "Just some Bill Nye videos to pass the time. This is one of my favorites."

"Who's Bill Nye?"

America blinked, as though not quite believing what he'd just heard. "I-I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Yeah," Australia said slowly. "Who's Bill Nye?"

Canada could be heard to groan and throw his head back in expressive exasperation from his seat nearby. "Oh, you've done it now."

"BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY IS THE GREATEST SCIENCE GUY TO EVER SCIENCE." America jumped up onto the meeting table, holding up his phone like a torch. He used his free hand to point at a completely bewildered Australia in condemning accusation as he thundered, "AND _YOU_ SIR, ARE A _HEATHEN_!"

Australia had his hands up, and began to slowly back away. "Alright, alright, I'll watch a few when I get ho- _oi_!"

America was having none of it. He literally picked Australia up and flung him over one shoulder in a fireman's carry, marching towards the exit. "A few? Oh, no. You're going to watch _all_ of them. There's a computer room right off the lobby."

"But-the meeting is about to start…"

"This is waaaaay more important," America assured seriously.

Canada shook his head, exchanging a mournful glance with Japan, who had been subject to the same treatment several years ago and had witnessed the whole thing over the edge of his laptop.

(Canada suspected the Island Nation was hiding his camera behind the screen, and reminded himself to make sure it was nothing that could be taken out of context.

Unless it was hilarious.)

"I don't think they're going to be back for this session," Canada announced aloud for Germany's benefit.

"Of course not," Germany sighed tiredly, marking the absences on his roster. "There's always _someone_."

"Whoever this Bill Nye person is must be important," France stated innocuously. "But I've personally never heard of him either."

From across the building, the gathered Nations _heard_ America's affronted gasp.

" _WHAT?!"_

* * *

 **Someone at the college told me they didn't know who Bill Nye the Science Guy is. My response was similarly outrageous, except I didn't pick anyone up.**

 **God, I am in an amazingly good mood...**


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey, Al?"

America popped into his kitchen, raising an eyebrow at how Canada was rummaging through his liquor cabinet but not commenting. "Wassup?"

"Why do you have vodka? I thought you didn't drink it."

"I don't have any vodka. That's prob'ly moonshine."

Canada reached to the back of the almost entirely unused cabinet, and pulled out the bottle of clear liquid. He tapped the incriminating label that very clearly read, _**'Stolichnaya Vodka'**_. It was half empty.

"Er…" The southernmost brother suddenly had a look on his face that practically screamed, _'Oh, crap. I've been caught'_. "That was just…a gift. From someone. I don't remember who."

"A _half empty_ gift," Canada noted.

America reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting Canada's gaze. "Y-….eees?"

"Al," Canada exhaled exasperatedly, "there's nothing wrong with liking vodka. Just admit it already."

"I don't _like_ vodka, okay?" America crossed his arms almost in childish defiance. "'S not a hero's drink."

Canada could see that he wasn't going to get a confession this time. He sighed and put the bottle back.

* * *

 **Reeeeeeally short one for you guys. I read somewhere that vodka is actually the most popular alcohol in the United States, while whiskey is supposed to be gaining some traction in Russia. Which I find rather amusing, and so this was spawned.**

 **Does anyone else think that if political differences didn't get in the way, that the U.S. and Russia could've been better friends at least in the mutual cultural fascination that the U.S. currently shares with other countries? Relations aren't _nearly_ as bad as they once were, but still...Food for thought.**


	9. Chapter 9

"Whatever it is, don't do it."

America stopped just inside the door, hiding the plastic shopping bad guiltily behind him. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

"No, you're not, because I'm stopping you now." Canada extended his hand. America pouted childishly as he relinquished the plastic shopping bag.

Canada peeked inside. Water balloons, paint, glitter, a rubber dog toy, and a throw away camera. He peered back up at his brother over the rim of his glasses. "Not doing anything wrong, eh?"

America fidgeted under the weight of his gaze. "Well it's not _wrong_ if the person has it coming."

"This is going somewhere you won't find it," Canada decided. "Now what do you want for lunch?"

America folded his arms petulantly. "How did you even know I was up to something? I gave no hints!"

"Pizza? That sounds good to me, too. Pepperoni as always, I'm sure. And no we're not getting the sausage with it."

America blinked. "I didn't say anything about-hey, where are you going?"

"To order the pizza," Canada answered over his shoulder. "Unless I was wrong and you _don't_ want pizza?"

"…I never said that, either."

Canada smirked. "I thought so."

America stood there for a long moment, trying to figure out how he'd been predicted. Canada returned with phone in hand. "We're brothers, Al. Can't believe it took you this long to notice the connection."

"The connection?" America echoed dumbly.

Canada dialed the phone, that infuriating smirk still in place at his brother's bafflement.

America blinked, and then shot Canada a glare. "Don't you dare."

"Don't I dare what?"

"That-that _thing_ with the Frenchie accent." America shuddered. "It doesn't make you sound romantic, suave, or mysterious. Just ridiculous."

Canada pursed his lips in slight annoyance. "How did you know?"

America saw his chance. He waggled his fingers mystically. "Our _connection_ , Mattie. It goes both ways."

* * *

 **So there's this awesome dust storm outside because it's monsoon season and the desert can't just settle for being deathly hot in the summer. It likes to introduce variety by killing people with silicosis and valley fever as well. The sudden rain and flooding that comes shortly after the dust storm is just icing on the cake.**

 **That doesn't even get into the animal maulings and evil venomous everything. There was literally a bobcat in my backyard the other night. I think this state is actively trying to kill people.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	10. Chapter 10

"Mattie."

"Mattie."

"Mattie."

Fingers snapped inches from his face. His brother was watching at him worriedly. "You okay, Bro?"

The world still didn't feel right. Mostly muted colors and muffled noise. "…Huh?"

"You seem kinda out of it..." The western Nation followed his gaze, which rested on the fireplace. The empty, cold fireplace…

Then America glimpsed the shiny silver rectangle in his hands, and stiffened. "Matthew." He almost sounded scared. Which was silly, because who could be afraid of such a thing? Certainly not Canada.

"Yes?" The coffee table was wooden. Flammable. But then that could be said for most things, right? The furniture, the blankets, the walls, their clothes…

"Give me the lighter."

Canada found himself clutching it tighter, like a lifeline. "Fuck you."

America flinched. Canada didn't make a habit out of cursing; he only did that when he was truly upset by something. However he persisted. "Give it to me, or I'll have to take it from you. You know you're not supposed to have it."

"I don't care. I need it."

" _Ma_ tthew." America hesitated only for a split second before reaching over and taking his hands. Loosely, so as not to cause a knee-jerk reaction. "You don't need this. You can set a fire in the fireplace, okay? But first you have to give me the lighter.

The Canadian tried to pull away. America nimbly stole the lighter right from between his fingers.

' _No!-'_

He grabbed for it desperately. "Give it back!" America flung it away from the couch. It landed with a clatter somewhere behind them.

Canada launched himself, trying to get over the back of the couch. Trying to retrieve it so that he could finally set something on _fire_ -

America enveloped him into a bear hug, pinning his arms to his torso. In the struggle, they found themselves on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

Canada writhed in an effort to get free. _"Non! Je veux incendier quelque chose!"_

"You can't!" America yelled masking his worry and heartbreak with anger as a defense mechanism. "Not again! You promised!"

Hissing, Canada felt his brother push his full weight down on him, leaving him entirely immobilized. His position trapped his gaze on the still cold fireplace. So sad and gray…

Carefully, America sat up. He kept his brother's neck in a headlock as he used his other hand to take a store-bought log from the nearby woodpile and toss it into the empty fireplace. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He fumbled with it only briefly before he managed to light one.

Canada felt his eyes gravitate towards the little flame, watching it do its deceptively innocent little dance. One bright light in the otherwise monochromatic and cold room. America threw the match onto the log. Whatever accelerant the store had added caused it to be engulfed in flames almost immediately.

The enticing colors of the fire that crackled within its brick confines of the fireplace mesmerized Canada. He felt himself relaxing, going entirely limp as the warmth seemed to wash over him.

"Matthew."

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

Canada didn't answer immediately, because he wasn't sure. Was he okay? He hadn't set anything on fire, and he _knew_ that was a good thing even if it really didn't feel that way.

Wood snapped at the intense heat, embers floating into the air…a much smaller version of the blaze he'd never gotten to set so long ago…What had stopped him then? It was supposed to be a victorious day, paired with revenge that he'd felt was simply a city for a city. Alfred's people had started it, after all, in York.

But then Canada learned later that it hadn't just burned his brother. It'd almost taken away his sight completely.

Remembering how close it had been even now made him sick with guilt, despite not even having a hand in it.

Because it'd been his idea in the first place…and Alfred still didn't know that.

"I don't think I ever will be."

* * *

 **Introducing a little headcanon of mine, because America can't be the _only_ one with issues, right?**

 **Alright, I don't know much about pyromania, and didn't research it much before writing this. Sorry if you felt my fictional representation was not good enough, but here you go anyways.**

 **And I seem to have this compulsion for making everyone at least low-key mentally deranged in some way. I justify it with the Hetalia characters' state of being and circumstance.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	11. Chapter 11

England had a long list of very good reasons to avoid America's house as much as possible. For one, the simple fact that the property was in the middle of bloody nowhere. What if there was an emergency? The winding road tacked on an extra hour of driving time from the nearest airport, and the grocery store was barely any closer. Nothing but trees and wildlife broken up by the occasional dilapidated shack, private road, or small ranch.

Another reason that England would never admit to anyone, was that this property also happened to be the same one they shared before That-Event-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned. He could hardly hear someone coming down the stairs without squeaky floorboards thrusting his mind back into bittersweet memories of better times.

And that wasn't even the chief reason for this evasion policy. But the Prime Minister was adamant that the document in his suitcase be taken straight to the American Representative.

An unusually harried-looking Canada was the one to answer the door. Did England imagine that hint of relief in his smile of greeting? "Arthur, thank God you're here."

Those words were not promising. England decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Which was the roundabout excuse he gave himself to play dumb in the hopes of avoiding whatever sheer ridiculousness was happening inside. "Why are _you_ here?"

"It was _supposed_ to be time off," Canada sighed in such a way that implied things had not gone to plan. "Things were busy back home, so I came here to avoid the nonessential paperwork. But then…well…" He moved aside, and England stepped over the threshold with the heavy air of a soldier marching to his death.

"They're in the dining room," Canada informed briskly. "I need to use the restroom-don't let them do anything stupid while I'm gone." Then he was running down the hall, as though to prevent England from arguing.

' _They?'_

England heard two voices, both frightening familiar in their own way.

"I think the limey's here."

"What does it matter when vodka is involved? Deal the cards."

England grimaced. Russia was here as well for God-knows-what-reason.

"Has your waistline gotten _wider_ since we last spoke? You should consider chopping your-"

"If you finish that sentence, Vanya, I promise you'll wake up without eyes."

"Getting tired of teeth?"

"Well, I _have_ been needing a little variety…"

' _They always_ did b _ring out the worst in each other, didn't they? But neither one seems to mind…'_

England cancelled that line of thought before it could go any further.

America's voice snapped him back into reality. "Iggy, dude, why you standin' out there like a weirdo?"

Instead of answering, England gathered his courage and entered the dining room. "I wasn't aware that you still _used_ the word 'limey'."

America rolled his eyes. "Don't get all butthurt. Your default names for me are 'yank' and 'git'."

He had a point, not that England would admit it. His eyes moved to the table, which had what looked to be an active poker game. "I was sent to deliver this in person-don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you for sure."

"To get you out of the palace for a day," Russia suggested innocently. "Your presence must be getting on their nerves."

England scowled. "I dislike you. I don't think I say that often enough."

Russia smiled that disturbing smile of his, and England suddenly felt vulnerable. Russia was still much larger than England, geographically speaking. And where Russia lacked technology, he made up for with quantity…

America saw what was happening almost immediately. He reached over to smack the Slavic Nation upside the head. "Hey, none of that weird aura-pressure-strength-projecting crap in my house. It's not cool."

England took a breath of relief. Damn superpowers.

"You say that now," Russia retorted evenly, rubbing the back of his head. "But I seem to recall a little incident with-"

"That was different."

" _Sure_ it was."

As America and Russia stared each other down with equivalently dark expressions, England wondered whether he should leave now while he had the chance.

Canada finally dashed back into the dining room, his expression looking only _more_ frantic since his restroom break. "She's here."

Russia's knees bumped the table as he stood up with a soft curse. "I thought she couldn't track me here."

A quiet rasp filled the room, sending a collective chill down their spines.

" _Big brother…"_

Russia literally dove into the pantry and shut the door behind him. America quickly moved to lean on the door as though trying to appear casual. Canada sat down at the card table, gesturing impatiently to England that he should do the same. Utterly bewildered, England took the spot that Russia had been sitting in.

Belarus drifted into the room like a wraith, her eyes wild with obsession. Her gaze travelled over the three of them. "The tracker says he is here."

' _There's a pair of tens in this hand,'_ England thought, frantically trying to think and act completely innocent because even after all these years, he _still_ wasn't sure whether Belarus was a mind reader or did some kind of witchcraft.

"Then your tracker's a piece of shit," America declared from his position against the pantry. "'Cause he sure as hell ain't on my land. Might wanna check Mexico?"

Belarus regarded America with obvious suspicion. "I was there already. What did you do to him?"

"Nothing." America raised his hands. "See? No blood or rope burns this time."

England couldn't help feeling that he had the pieces to an important revelation, but couldn't quite get the puzzle to fit together properly. But he was too busy thinking benign thoughts to really consider it. ' _And either the seven or face card could yield a decent play if that two can be traded…such a shame that they're all in different suits, though.'_

Belarus looked to Canada next. Perhaps her expression softened-perhaps. "He is truly not here?"

"Nope." Canada picked up the abandoned card hand before him. "Wanna join? It's poker."

"I do not play," Belarus answered by way of denial. "I must go, now. I haven't checked Greenland."

When she was gone, America waited about three minutes before he turned and open the pantry door. "All clear."

Russia's muffled voice answered from within, "I might stay in here a little longer just in case."

"Oh, don't be a chicken shit." America reached inside and dragged Russia out by the collar. "And no, that's not where I keep the other alcohol."

"I'll find your extra stash one day, _Fredka_."

"Is it just me, or do they have an especially strange relationship?" England questioned so that only Canada could hear.

"Maybe they sense a subconscious kinship," Canada offered.

England shuddered at the idea. "Don't even joke about that."

"…Did you seriously eat all my Chips Ahoy while you were hiding?"

An unapologetic shrug. "I was hungry."

Canada gave England a bland look. "Who said I was joking?"

* * *

 **I've decided that Russia and America COULD be friends. At least in Hetalia. I shall use my super author powers to make it so.**


	12. Chapter 12

Four Nations stood awkwardly around a nondescript package on the meeting table, trying to figure out what to do.

"Um…" America began dumbly. Then he pointed at it. "It's ticking."

Canada spared an irritated glance for his brother. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Why you're welcome, Lieutenant Sarcasm."

"Save it for later, mates," Australia advised. "There's mortals in the building, and we don't know how big a boom this'll be if we don't disarm it."

"And they didn't even leave return address," Russia sighed. "How rude."

Three pairs of eyes migrated to one Nation. America looked up and around confusedly. "...What?"

Canada raised his eyebrows expectantly. " _You're_ the weapon buff. You have to have read about bomb disposal at least once in your life."

"And you think I can just bring up the memory at the drop of a hat?"

"It's not like you can't," Australia pointed out.

"Yeah, but…"

"But not in time, _da_?" Russia picked up the bomb. Everyone else winced when he jostled it a little too roughly. "I'll be back."

"Where are you taking it?" Canada queried nervously.

"Elsewhere," the tallest Nation answered vaguely. "Do not worry."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked towards the opposite end of the meeting room. He seemed to fade into an invisible fog, and then was gone. The room was suddenly three degrees colder.

America frowned suspiciously at the spot Russia had disappeared into. "Why am I not surprised this happened in _his_ meeting hall?"

"And why am I not surprised you're linking the host country to a threat even when he Jumps it far away from us?" Canada retorted sharply. "It's not the _sixties_ , Al. We played poker with him last Thursday."

"Only because he showed up in that _weird_ way he does and sat down at the table and I dealt him into the game 'cause I'm not allowed to physically throw him out anymore."

"But he knew where your spare house key was hidden," Australia interjected thoughtfully. "Not even _I_ know where that is. Means he's been to your place a few times-"

"He _spied_ on me and now he knows where it is," America swore.

"And you didn't move it," Canada noted with one of his "innocent" smiles.

America opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. He subsided with a grumble.

The room very briefly chilled again as Russia faded back into view. "It is gone." He examined the others' expressions curiously. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

"Nothing," America said quickly, giving both Canada and Australia an evil glare that promised nuclear retribution if either one tried to continue the conversation in Russia's presence.

Australia hid his smile in his shirt collar, and Canada smirked. "Nothing at all."

* * *

 **I'M SORRY I'VE BEEN GONE. THINGS HAVE BEEN HAPPENING.**

 **Long story short, college is hard, and Cape Cod is waaaaaay too cold for a desert dweller like me.**

 **Thank you for your patience. I'll try to update one of my bigger stories soon.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	13. Chapter 13

Prussia peered into the fridge, and confused. "The brownies were on the _top_ shelf, you said?"

"Yeah." Canada strolled into the kitchen, and tilted his head a bit to the side. "Why?"

"They're not there anymore. You sure you didn't eat them and forget?"

"Oh, I wouldn't forget eating _those_ brownies," Canada assured. Then he frowned. "Who ate them then?"

There was a loud crash from the living room, followed by a familiar laugh. Canada put two and two together rather quickly, and groaned.

* * *

"S-sssorry." America staggered to his feet, feeling around with his hand for a support that wasn't there. "Got caught in a gravity storm."

Prussia chuckled. His phone was already out and videotaping. "You broke the coffee table."

America laughed dizzily, lurching backward just a bit too far. "Heh…hehe. O _oo_ ppss!~" He predictably fell back onto his ass, and just flopped fully onto the floor in a spread eagle position. " _Snow_ Angel!"

"I _told_ you not to eat those brownies," Canada scolded uselessly. "Remember what happened last time?"

America definitely wasn't listening. He kicked his feet up into the air. "Spring time…Easter in the spring time…but Easter is the weird holiday that _moooves_ …what are we even _looking_ for on Easter, anyways? I forget."

"No," Canada said firmly. "No, no. This is how it started last time. Then you opened every banana in the house and put googly eyes on your penis."

Prussia's eyes bugged at this revelation. _"Really?"_

Canada gave the albino a warning finger before kneeling to sit his brother up and brace him against the couch. "You're going to sit here, and _not move_ until this passes. Got it?"

America tried shaking his head, but somehow ended up rolling onto his side while simultaneously sliding back onto the floor. "Nooooopey-nope. I need to know what we're looking for on Sunday."

"Alfred," Canada sighed. Well at least his brother seemed to be relatively docile…he could handle this…

Of course, America had to stagger back to his feet once again, and run full tilt at the window that overlooked his front yard. "I RE _MEM_ BER!"

And of course, the window lost out in the collision.

America landed on his knees in the grass covered in scrapes and gashes, but didn't seem to notice as he kind of pathetically rolled forward into a standing position.

"We should get him high more often!" Prussia suggested around his breathless laughter.

"Oh, shut up and help me get him back into the house," Canada ground out irritably. Alfred was going to _pay_ for the cost of those brownies. And the window.

America's expression had become strangely serious as he seemed to look out at an imaginary crowd. He even pitched his voice to project across the lawn. "Attention, churchgoers! Easter is cancelled! They found the body!"

Canada had to stop and blink at that. Then he shook his head exasperatedly. He really didn't know what went through his brother's head at times, or where certain things came from, but he was sure he never wanted to find out.

Prussia was being spectacularly useless with his laughter. "Oh, just let him do his thing, Birdie! It'll be great footage for the next World Meeting!"

"If it were anyone but Alfred I would!" Canada shot back. "But as it is- _Alfred get away from my truck!_ "

"Lumberjacking truck!~" America declared cheerfully, lifting it high over his head with very little effort on his part. "Lumberjacking trucks can _FLY_!"

"ALFRED IF YOU DO NOT PUT THAT TRUCK DOWN _RIGHT NOW_ I WILL TIE YOU BENEATH A GLACIER AND WATCH IT SLOWLY CRUSH YOU!"

America paused, blinking owlishly at his brother. His lower lip began to quiver. "Mattie's _mad_ at me…?"

Canada's tongue roll back into his mouth so quickly in alarm that he almost choked on it. " _Merde_ -nono, I'm not mad at you, just…"

" _Wah, Mattie's mad at me!"_ America wailed piteously. _"He doesn't LOVE meeeeee!"_

The truck went flying towards them, making it so both Nations had to dive to either side to avoid it. Prussia cursed, but still stubbornly kept his phone out even as the truck landed with a SLAM!

Alfred was searching for a convenient handhold on Prussia's rental car. When he didn't find one, he stomped down hard on the front bumper with a screech of metal and grabbed the dashboard _through_ the windshield so that it was flipped up onto its end like a skateboard. His despair had dissipated and morphed into simple anger, apparently, as now he was giving Matthew a hellishly pleased grin. "I _knew_ you were lying to me!"

Matthew had to gulp. Alfred never did well on hallucinogens. Or mood suppressors. Or stimulants. Or anything else that played chemical havoc with the body. And those brownies he just ate…

…Well they were essentially a bit of everything baked into squares with some chocolate powder. Plain old Mary Jane just didn't cut it on its own with their kind.

"Birdie," Prussia breathed so that only he could hear. "What do we do?"

Canada didn't dare to take his eyes of Alfred for a moment, but answered anyways. "If you can get me close to him then I can-"

"Incoming car!"

This one came at them with more deadly intent and momentum, so when it landed it gouged the lawn with a fifteen foot skid mark before it came to a stop.

Canada winced at the damage. "You're probably not getting your deposit back on that car, Gil."

"Kesekese, I don't care about the car! He'll be _mortified_ when he snaps out of this, and I'm gonna cash in on every _milligram_ of heroic guilt!"

Well, at least Prussia was thinking positive.

* * *

 **NO I DO NOT CONDONE RECREATIONAL DRUG USE OF ANY KIND. But it occurs to me that Nations might view certain things differently by virtue of their being extremely old, nigh indestructible, and rather bored.**


	14. Chapter 14

It is often said that Alfred didn't have any contact with any other Nations from 1812 to 1910. But that simply wasn't true. Aside from France's sporadic letters, Canada's largely ignored telegraphs, and the British Empire's cordial diplomatic invitations that no one ever asked for, there was one more who hailed the elusive North American Nation, and is among the few that ever got a response.

* * *

 _ **1892:**_

 _Mister United States,_

 _Give him back. I don't know how you managed to steal away a devout Czech Nationalist, but Antonin Dvorak is mine._

 _Sincerely,  
Czech Republic_

* * *

 **Czech Republic,**

 **No.**

 **Frankly,  
USA**

* * *

 _ **1893:**_

 _United States,_

 _Dvorak is a musical genius. He should be amongst other musical geniuses of his caliber. Here. You're abusing him with your brutish culture and your lowered pay._

 _I Hope We Never Meet,  
Czech Republic_

* * *

 **Check Republican,**

 **He said himself that he needed inspiration. You've probably heard his new symphony. You know, the one he wrote for me.**

 **I Promise We Won't,  
USA**

* * *

 _ **1894:**_

 _Cvok,_

 _I am taking him back. Not just for me, but for all of Europe. Simrock is publishing his music here. Brahms has been proofreading it. Imagine all the time Brahms is taking away from his own music just so that we can have Dvorak's work. But yet we haven't heard the pleasure of Dvorak conducting his own music since 1892. That is too long, America._

 _You're Also An Asshole,  
Czech Republic_

* * *

 **Checkered European,**

 **Just remember that I made his music better.**

 **Takes One To Know One,  
USA**

 **P.S: Bringing Austria into this was a low blow and you know it.**

* * *

 **So I was just watching this thing about the famous composer Antonin Dvorak and his time in America. Dvorak was known to be a total Czech Nationalist who hated travelling. Then Jeannette Meyers Thurber offered him a gigantic salary and a three year contract to be the director of the National Conservatory of Music in New York.**

 **He is the first great European composer to visit America. The people loved him. This made me think of Hetalia, and Europe's possible reaction, since he was very well loved in Europe as well. It was too short and anecdotal to put anywhere else.**

 **As a lover of music and history in general, I could go on and on about this school. It was open to blacks and whites, and considered extremely affordable. However it had a number of difficulties, and finally went out in the thirties with the Great Depression. It was declared officially defunct in 1952.**

 **Sorry about the line breaks, guys. It was all I could do to combat formatting issues.**


End file.
